


We're Flying

by kayura_sanada



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Finds Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Slash, Wing Kink, Wingfic, why do you ask?, yes this is heavily influenced by Escaflowne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: A sorcerer destroys the very earth in his quest for revenge, and Arthur falls. Merlin flies down to save him.Did I mention sorcerers have wings?





	1. Chapter 1

The sorcerer glared down at them, his wings flapping idly. Arthur held his sword at the ready, one hand out as if to shield Merlin somehow. The sorcerer’s eyes glowed. The ground shook. “Soon, you will understand the agony of hiding in the earth like a worm,” the man said. “To have the world against you. To fear death with every step.” Arthur had to lower his weapon to keep his balance. Merlin kept his gaze on the man above them, even as he lost his feet and fell ass-first into the dirt.

“Stop this,” Arthur ordered, every ounce of authority crammed in his tone. Merlin nearly snorted.

“It’s too late. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Merlin could hear the earth screaming beneath them. It rumbled, cracked. Far ahead of them, the earth split in two. Trees toppled, caving in and smacking against one another before falling, gnarled roots exposed to the sky before they fell. The earth rent like lightning, raged like thunder. Merlin gripped the ground on either side of him. He closed his eyes and pushed, trying to close the gap, to heal the gaping wound in the earth. Avalon wept. He felt the sky grow cold, heavy with rain. He could feel the twisted magic in the earth, the stones that had been placed within and fed dark magic until it bled into the soil. There was no saving this place.

“Merlin!” He opened his eyes to see Arthur stumbling towards him, likely thinking him injured from the tremors. Merlin dared a glance up, only to see the retreating figure of the sorcerer as he flew away, fleeing before the earth or the rain could pull him in, as well. Merlin gritted his teeth. “Arthur, get out of here! Run!”

But there was no way they could reach safe harbor in time. They’d been lured nearly to the middle of this trap. By the time they’d made it to the edge, to beyond those stones, the earth would be gone completely.

Of course Arthur ignored Merlin’s words, finally making it to his side and grabbing his arm. “Move, Merlin!”

He did as ordered, despite the chances, dropping his attempts to seal the breach widening before them, knowing the effort to be useless. The ground shrieked. Arthur forced Merlin forward, nearly wrenching his arm from its socket, his feet steadier on the writhing earth than Merlin’s on level ground. Only when Merlin came abreast of him did Arthur let go, only to push on Merlin’s back to urge him faster.

Crevices split the earth around them. With a sound like the howling of some demon, a large piece of the ground shifted, rose up for a moment, and fell. Its sudden absence made the ground they ran on tilt in an unnatural direction. Merlin found himself leaning heavily to the right just to keep himself upright. He dared look over his shoulder to see how Arthur fared. He’d kept his balance, as well, though he used his sword once to keep from falling to one knee. It left Merlin a few paces ahead, and he immediately turned to help his king back up. The cold, wet touch of the air whipped as the wind whirred up around them. They both shivered into each other as they struggled forward.

With Merlin taking the momentary lead, he could dare to let his eyes flash yellow as he once again struggled to get the earth under some semblance of control. He could feel the earth as one might a spiderweb, its perfect weave broken, tangling. Putting it back together might be impossible, but if he could just stop it from disintegrating further–

Arthur grabbed the handkerchief around his neck and yanked him back with a shout. The ground before him rumbled, shaking violently, and split. Merlin stumbled back with a gasp, only held up by Arthur’s grip on his clothes. He heard the tell-tale rip of cloth that told him his handkerchief was ruined.

With the way forward blocked, they turned as one to the left, only to see a jagged hole where the ground had been. To their right was a patchwork of torn ground and gaping wounds. They ran, anyway.

Merlin couldn’t hear the rumble of thunder over the deep bellows of the earth below him, but suddenly he felt something wet hit his hands, his cheek. The world hazed into gray as rain began to fall. It turned the ground wet and slick, and more often than not, even the last patches of level ground pulled Merlin to his knees as his footing slipped on the already precarious soil. He couldn’t hear anything over the rushing gales and churning earth. He looked back to check on Arthur.

The king was on the ground, hair glittering in the gray light as rain slowly plastered it to his skin. He struggled to make it up the incline, his sword sliding in the mud. Even as Merlin watched, the earth behind Arthur opened like a gaping maw, ready to devour the man. The ground swayed beneath them before sliding inexorably toward that wide cavity. Arthur slid back, his sword bending and sliding in the muck before finally sticking with a slurp. The sudden change wrenched the metal from Arthur’s grip. For a single moment, Arthur grabbed the mud as if to pull himself out. Then he realized the futility of the movement and instead met Merlin’s horrified gaze. “What are you doing, you idiot? Ru–”

The edge of the ground crumpled wetly into the canyon below. Arthur fell.

“Arthur!”

He ran to the edge of the abyss, his feet slipping and sliding and getting stuck in the mud. He yanked off his jacket, snarling when it stuck to his shirt and his skin in its sodden state. Lightning flashed as he looked down, his gaze searching out his king.

There.

He jumped in after him.

Arthur was little more than a deep shadow in a deeper darkness, disappearing quickly into its depths. Merlin put his arms by his sides and fell face-first, trying to push his body to fall faster. Arthur grew larger as he came closer. He saw the king’s eyes widen.

He unfurled his wings.

They pressed tight against his shirt, the muscles straining, pulling, finally tearing free. He spread them wide, pushing the shreds of his shirt away. A few shreds clung nonetheless, sticky from the rain and unwilling to part from the feathers. The sensation was almost as annoying as the water, sticking the bristles of his feathers together and making it harder to adjust his dive. He pulled his wings tight and finally caught up to Arthur. The ground was a black stain below them.

Arthur flinched away from him, but Merlin just ignored it, hurrying beneath his king to grab his shoulder and waist, catching him up and bearing his weight. He flared his wings to catch the chilling wind, the bones and muscles cramping in pain over the excess load. The earth, pulled apart to show the stone, hadn’t pulled apart entirely; he could see it, in the bright flashes of lightning, a rocky surface, close now after their long fall.

They were coming up on it too fast.

He strained his wings, curling Arthur close. The man struggled in his arms, kicking out as Merlin fought to keep them both upright, their bodies lined up from shoulder to knee. Arthur kneed him in the grain. Merlin curled into Arthur, his arms shaking, every nerve ending popping. He gasped. “Let me land us before you kill me!” he said, and Arthur suddenly stilled.

It gave him the chance to focus once more on his wings, and he beat them furiously, even as they trembled from the pain ricocheting up from his groin.

The ground was right below them, their descent still far too fast, and in one last, desperate bid, he twisted their bodies around, flapped long and low, and curled himself even tighter around Arthur, until the scents of leather and sweat filled his nose.

He slammed into the ground, back-first. Pain flashed like wildfire up his wings. He thought he heard something break. He screamed, arched his back. And fell to darkness.

* * *

He woke up.

A part of him was amazed he did; there were stories about sorcerers who fell into death after losing their wings. But, though he felt them sheathed once more within his flesh, his magic tingling lightly through their hidden nerve passages, he couldn’t feel any disruptions that signaled a break. So perhaps he’d gotten lucky?

“You’re awake, then.”

Or perhaps not.

He opened his eyes. He would have to eventually, whether he wanted to or not. Arthur sat by a fire, a small one that crackled madly in a silence that, compared to the sound of the world falling apart just hours before, seemed almost to boom. Merlin could only see Arthur’s back and the side of one cheek. In the dark, only the flames gave them some semblance of light. Arthur did not turn to look at him.

He shifted, sitting up slowly, but though his back burned with pain, he felt no aching loss within him. He could still fly. He wondered what that cracking sound was and paled. “Are you all right?”

Another snapping sound, and he realized Arthur had been poking the small flames with another stick. The man whirled where he sat, casting his face into shadows, turning his golden hair aflame. “All this time,” he said. Merlin flinched. “Come here.” Arthur stood, pointing at the space he’d been occupying.

Merlin made to stand, only to feel something slip along his legs. He looked down to see his king’s cape around him. Arthur had used it as a blanket. For him. His heart beat fast at the implications. If it weren’t for the stony expression on Arthur’s face, he might have let himself believe it was a good sign.

Slowly, he did as told, picking up Arthur’s cape as he did and folding it with trembling fingers. Mud caked its edges, its sides. He could feel the sticky, clumping feeling that told him mud caked him rather entirely, as well, and with no shirt, the mud made him feel downright gross. Arthur hadn’t been spared, either, though he seemed to have most of it gathered on his arms and legs. Merlin opened his mouth to offer to wipe it off, or to try to find some water. An instinct born of working as a servant for too long. He just closed his mouth and sat. His fingers curled tightly around Arthur’s cape. His shoulders hunched.

“You don’t bother to deny it, at least,” Arthur said. Merlin heard him walking around behind him, but knew better than to try to turn. Arthur had demanded this position for a reason. “I didn’t believe my eyes at first. I thought I’d imagined seeing your face the moment I saw those wings. But it had been you all along.”

Merlin stared into the flickering flames. The dirt beneath his feet was still damp, and he could see, stretched out before him, a deep valley of darkness that showed they were still inside the hole the sorcerer had made. Something groaned. He thought he heard something crumble. The place couldn’t be stable. “Should we be here?” he asked.

“Don’t move,” Arthur said. The command was so authoritative, Merlin momentarily froze where he sat. He jerked when he felt Arthur’s hand on his back. Arthur traced the skin over his shoulder blades. “I really don’t see anything,” the man murmured.

Merlin shivered. He pretended it was due to the cool air. “You won’t,” he said, his voice quiet. He looked to the ground, his shoulders inching up of their own volition. “I have to call the magic forward. It’s… like uncurling a muscle. I try not to; it’s just that sometimes it almost seems to hurt, keeping them locked away, and I would never use them to hurt – I only ever use my mag–”

“Shut up.”

Arthur traced the edges of bone as he fell silent. Slowly, those fingers found his spine, and Arthur slid a single digit down the bent curve of his back, until it slipped off about half way to his torso. “Show me,” he said, and Merlin shivered again.

Without a word, he unfurled his wings.

The scapulars and wrists came out first, no matter what people thought. These bones were almost immediately covered by muscle, then skin, faster than the human eye could track. With them came the first burst of feathers, the primaries, then secondaries and coverts, in such an enormous rush that many fell without linking properly to the muscle and bone, only to be replaced anew. It always made the emergence of the wings come in a flurry of feathers, pluming in some sort of cloud around a sorcerer. Evidence that one had been nearby, and an easy way to trace their initial ascent. Something Uther and his knights had taken advantage of again and again.

Arthur must have watched it happen, but he said not a word. Merlin hunched down further. His wings flared to shake off the excess feathers, then curled immediately around him. An instinctive reaction to his desire to hide. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. In the horrible silence between them, the words seemed like a curse.

“I always hated seeing these wings,” Arthur said. Merlin flinched. “They never suited sorcerers. And my father, if he could catch one with their wings out, would always have them ripped off.” Merlin shuddered. “I heard they’re very sensitive.”

Merlin’s breath turned ragged. He didn’t think Arthur was so cruel as to – but he had just been betrayed, and Merlin couldn’t be sure. His wings curled so tightly over him he felt his feathers on his cheeks. They trembled slightly as he waited.

A tiny pressure on the tips of his wings, and suddenly Arthur was touching them. The man quickly pulled his hand back, but the act finally got Merlin to turn and look. Arthur’s face was twisted into something almost like pain. Merlin was reminded of the snapping sound he’d heard earlier and stood again. “Arthur? Are you sure you’re all right?”

The man looked him up and down. “I want to be furious with you,” he said. “I was. I am.” But his gaze kept straying to Merlin’s wings, and there was no rage there. The eyes were too wide, the stare too lingering, to be anything of the sort. “If your wings break, don’t you die?”

His wings nearly shook at the question. Why would Arthur ask him that? “Yes,” he said. His voice was nearly lost in the crackle of flames. “It disrupts our magic. It’s… sometimes it’s like a poison in our bodies, and we can’t escape it. Other times it’s… like something more important than our hearts have stopped working. We just… cease to continue.”

Arthur’s lips thinned. “You’re lucky we landed on that tree, then. Your wings were tangled, but your spine seems to have taken the worst of the blow.” Merlin’s brow furrowed as he tried to take in what Arthur was saying, but before he could, the king stepped before him, into his space. Merlin didn’t back away. “How long were you going to stand by my side as a stranger?”

Despite himself, he flinched once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I–”

“Tell me why.”

Merlin sucked in his breath. He could make a million excuses. Arthur’s father. The laws. The peoples’ reactions to wings in Camelot. Anything. But it wouldn’t be the truth. “I was scared.”

“Scared,” Arthur said, his voice perfectly flat. “Of me.”

“Of you turning away from me.”

Merlin’s heart beat furiously at the words. The thought of it seemed worse when put into words like that. His wings shifted, acting to try to defend him once more. Magic zipped like lightning along the lines of the wings, through the downy feathers near the scapulars to the edges of the primaries. He flapped them slightly, trying to chase the feeling away.

Arthur sighed. “You idiot.”

Merlin shivered. He dared look up, dared search Arthur’s face with hope. And smiled. “It’s – it’s all right?”

Arthur reached out and mussed Merlin’s hair. The movement made his arm brush against Merlin’s wings, and his entire body thrummed in reaction to it. Arthur took a soft, deep breath. “You took a nosedive to save me. If ever there could be any evidence that you’re the same loyal idiot you’ve always been, that would be it.”

Merlin’s wings fluttered as he grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Always,” he said, catching Arthur’s gaze flickering back to his wings, stuck once more on their movements. “Always, Arthur.”

Arthur just sighed. He reached up and scratched his head, getting the golden locks dirty. “Bank the fire, Merlin. I don’t want to be down in this muck any longer than necessary. Do you think those wings of yours can help get us out?”

Merlin shifted from foot to foot. “Possibly. I was fighting the momentum of your fall earlier. But… it would be easier if I used magic.”

Arthur stiffened for less than a second before sighing again. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he muttered, then, “do it. The ground is still shaking from whatever that man and his cohorts did to it. I’d rather not be here when the few remaining pillars decide to fall.”

Merlin had already begun kicking half-dried mud over the flames, grimacing at the squelching noises. “How did you even manage to make a fire?”

“From the branches our fall conveniently broke off a tree,” Arthur said, picking up his cape and pulling it around his shoulders. His sword was missing from his side, his hands and armor caked in mud. But he stood in the darkness every inch the king. “How do we do this, then?” Arthur asked, and it was the first hint of trepidation that stole over the man since Merlin had awakened.

Merlin’s wings waved out, pushed back from his sides and unfurled slightly. He let them, let Arthur get used to the sight of them as more than just a closed form on his back. He expected Arthur to back away, or perhaps flinch. Instead those eyes widened still more. Even in the darkness of night, Merlin knew the bright white of the feathers would give them a greater presence. But he saw no fear in his king’s face. He dared step closer. “I can’t carry you well,” he admitted. “You’re bigger than me. But we can stand together, face to face? I could carry you with my arms around your waist.”

Something in the distance rumbled, and whatever Arthur might have said in response ended up a terse nod. “All right, then.”

They’d slept together in the cold. Merlin had dressed and bathed Arthur many times in their acquaintance, too many to count. Yet when Arthur stepped into his space and carefully placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, the touch brought a sudden shiver that all but wracked his frame. His wings quivered, magic sparking from the tips of his feathers. He sucked in a deep breath and carefully wrapped his hands around Arthur’s waist. He gripped them tight, until Arthur had to wrap his arms around Merlin’s neck. The king breathed deeply, tucking his head a bit so Merlin had a less obstructed line of sight. He could feel each exhale against his handkerchief. His neck.

He spread his wings wide, over fourteen feet of wing span. Arthur looked out, his breath stuttering. Merlin gripped him tighter and took off.

If was slow going, with the extra weight, and he had to push his magic along their pathways at a furious pace to ensure they achieved liftoff. He was surprised with how readily his magic poured out, as if excited at the opportunity, though he supposed it had been some time. Arthur’s hands fisted against the skin on his back, scraping against the scapulars and sifting through the downy feathers along the top ridge of the humerus. He shivered. Jolts of pleasure shocked down his body. He dipped his head and struggled for control.

Arthur lifted his head as they flew high enough to breach the walls around them. They were close enough that, with the slivers of moonlight piercing the clouds above, Merlin could see the wide-eyed gaze Arthur gave the world below them. He adjusted as Arthur craned his neck around. He could feel the enchanted stones, harmless now that the foul magic had been siphoned from them into the earth. He carefully led them away. Arthur didn’t seem to mind them continuing this mode of travel. If anything, going by the way Arthur looked down, around, nearly throwing Merlin off more than once, the king wanted to stay in the sky for a while longer. Merlin could relate.

Arthur’s gaze only widened still more as dawn crept over the horizon. Despite the dirt still caked over them, Arthur seemed burnished in red and gold, his cape flapping even more madly than Merlin’s wings in the morning breeze. Arthur watched the sun rise as they came to a stop at the edge of a copse of trees, right at the border of the sorcerers’ cursed land. “Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin looked at him. His king’s gaze still sat transfixed upon the horizon. “I like your wings.” Merlin preened. His wings puffed out at the praise, making the wind tickle through their barbs. “And if you tell anyone I said that, you’ll be mucking out the stalls for a year.”

He chuckled. “Of course, sire.”

He made to land them, but Arthur gripped tighter. That frisson of pleasure shot through him once more as Arthur’s fingers slipped along the rigid muscle and bone that traced the line of human shoulder blades to avian scapulars. Arthur’s lips, when he spoke, nearly brushed his cheek. “Not yet.”

Merlin breathed heavily. “All right.”

They took their time. It was the best flight Merlin had ever known.


	2. Dragon Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation, of sorts. Merlin's wings match his ancestry.

“I thought sorcerers were supposed to have bird wings,” Arthur said, his words hesitant as they landed in a meadow only a half hour’s walk from Camelot. It was a meadow that had seen a different pair of wings many times. Every time Merlin had ordered their presence.

Merlin landed behind Arthur, quickly folding his leathery wings against his back. The scales, he knew, would be shining a bright gold-white, like some pearlescent metal.

Like Aithusa’s.

Arthur kept staring at them. He didn’t know if the man wanted him to keep them out as evidence or hide them away. “I’m – I’m a warlock,” he said, even though he knew Arthur wouldn’t understand the importance of the word. “I’m powerful,” he said, though he feared saying even that – let alone that he was so powerful, there were prophecies written of him – and of Arthur. “I’m a dragonlord.”

That got a reaction, finally. Arthur jerked here he stood. His gaze turned studious once more, as if the news information could change something, or show him something he’d missed before. Still he said nothing. Merlin’s wings trembled as he waited.

“I thought Balinor was the last,” Arthur said, his scowl growing for the first time since Merlin had grabbed him and carried him from the site of the attack.

“He was. It can only be inherited.”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort. Merlin let the information get processed, knew the instant it clicked. When Arthur’s furrowed brows shot up in surprise, his mouth, though no sound came out, still hung slightly open. Those bright blue eyes caught once more on the minute fluttering of Merlin’s wings. The look would have been comical under other circumstances.

His wings hunched slightly over him, the shine of the scales reflecting over his cheeks, as Arthur just stared. He shifted from foot to foot. “Spread them,” Arthur said suddenly.

Merlin held his breath and did as told. He so rarely had the opportunity to spread his wings that, despite his nerves, a fluttering, fulfilled feeling filled his chest. It was like stretching in bed after a long sleep; his body felt like it was only now waking up. The flash of his scales sent rays of light playing along Arthur’s face. They set his hair positively aflame.

It was only now, as Arthur stared at his wings the way Merlin stared at the light speckling Arthur’s face, that he managed to categorize the look on Arthur’s face. Enraptured. It was something he hadn’t seen since Arthur had pulled the sword from the stone. With everything Arthur had been taught, he still saw the beauty and wonder in magic. Merlin had never thought Arthur would ever look upon his wings, especially with such a feeling as awe. His wings snapped with delight. The movement startled Arthur, who instinctively bent down and reached for his sword. Merlin hung his head. “Sorry,” he said. His wings often had minds of their own.

Arthur stood from his crouch and raked a hand through his hair. “You always make things difficult, _Mer_ lin,” he said. For the first time, Merlin dared hope. “What am I going to do?”

“You’ll do what’s right,” Merlin said quietly. Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eyes. His gaze narrowed as Merlin continued. “You always do. Whatever you choose to do with me, I know it will be what’s right for Camelot.” He smiled.

Arthur closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “Whatever I choose to do? You just saved my life, and you expect me to, what? Kill you? Exile you? Is that why you never told me?”

“Your decisions on Camelot’s future should never be based on me,” Merlin said, shrugging helplessly. “You must choose what’s best for your people. And if you did choose to exile me, how would I be able to protect you?”

Arthur put up a hand in a silent order to stop,  and closed his eyes against the sight of his servant . Merlin shut his mouth. They stood there, a single step between them, worlds apart.  When finally Arthur opened his eyes again, he turned his gaze to Merlin for only a moment before looking once more at his wings, still wide open, as Arthur had instructed. For some reason, Merlin flushed. “Do you think you’re a danger to me or to Camelot?”  Despite the words,  Arthur’s voice was oddly hushed. Breathless.

“Never,” Merlin said without hesitation. “I am your servant, Arthur.” Knowing how Arthur might respond to his words, however, he continued with, “but I am only one man.”

“Once the rule is broken once, it cannot be true again,” Arthur said. Merlin blinked.

“You actually listened when Gaius said that?”

A rthur whacked him on the back of the head. It made the back of his hand brush against the scales at the top of Merlin’s wings. They both froze. Merlin couldn’t help the full-body shiver that coursed through him. Magic crackled along the lines of scale and bone, shivered through the leathery patagium. He felt an echo of it in his groin. He bit his lip.

Arthur cleared his throat and looked away, below Merlin’s knee. “Of course I listened,  _Mer_ lin,” he said, trying for an unaffected tone. The croak in his voice gave him away. He had to clear his throat again to get rid of it. “Get moving. I’ll figure out–” His gaze slid upward, once more watching the colors flash across the scales. “And put those away. It looks like the dance of the fairies out here.”

Merlin managed to peel his gaze away from Arthur’s face to see it wasn’t just his king who had sunlight sparkling over him. The grass, the flowers, even a few trees at the edge of the clearing, all glittered as if lit by fireflies. He blushed again and curled his wings back inside. They folded, almost cramped, around him, then slid bone by bone back inside, turning once more into little more than a pressure against his shoulder blades. His body mourned the loss of completion.

Oddly enough, Arthur looked perhaps more upset about it than he.

“Come on,” Arthur said. His voice still scratched slightly.

Hope blossomed again at the command. He hadn’t been yelled at or ordered to leave. And Arthur’s words – that he would ‘figure out’  _something_ – what if it meant Arthur accepted him, magic and wings and all?

Arthur took about two steps before he rounded back on Merlin, holding a single finger to his face. “I want to know more,” he said. “Everything. After we catch the sorcerer who attacked us. And,” and here  _Arthur_ , of all people, flushed slightly, his cheeks staining a rosy pink, “I want to check your wings again.”

Check? Merlin turned red clear up to his ears. “You, ah,” he stumbled, “know those rumors about th e-the wings  being, uh, sensitive, right? Those are true.”

Despite everything, Arthur smirked.  That gaze raked him up and down, no longer staring over his shoulder. “Do you have a problem with that, Merlin?”

He squeaked. Spluttered. “Ah. Um. No?”

Arthur’s grin widened. That long perusal stopped just over his shoulder, as if Arthur could still see some sign of Merlin’s wings, even after they were long gone. His gaze, and his voice, turned soft. “Good.”


End file.
